


stolen moments

by daisy_chains



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2019-08-11 03:33:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 12,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16467872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daisy_chains/pseuds/daisy_chains
Summary: It is on rare occasions, when the sun burns brightly and magic thrums melodically in the air, that Freya manages to slip away from her watery grave to join her lover for a few stolen moments.





	1. Chapter 1

It starts with a strawberry, the first time Freya and he escape their fates for the day and spend it together, a strawberry resting on his bedside table when he wakes.

 _Odd_ , he thinks, but brushes the thought aside to focus on getting Arthur to the morning’s knights’ training. 

It isn’t until he sees a rose, perfectly crafted in a way not possible without an outside force, lying on top of the prince’s mail that he truly wonders about the source of these objects. His heart constricts painfully as memories of a could-have-been force themselves to the forefront of his mind and the servant doesn’t realize he’s become caught up in his thoughts until Arthur starts to shout.

“ _Mer_ lin, I don’t have all day, can you hurry it up?” 

“Sorry, sire,” he answers, shoving the rose haphazardly into his neckerchief and ignoring the other’s questioning glare as he helps Arthur into his armor.

⁋

' _Merlin_ '. He startles at the voice, one he recognizes all too well and completely in his mind.

Still, he can’t help but hope, between the strawberry and the rose, that maybe fate smiles on him today. 

' _Freya_?' The warlock asks, eyes darting to where a group of townspeople have stopped for a break and to watch the knights practicing. No one stands out as he scans through the people, but just as he’s about to give up and brush the voice aside as a sign of him going mad, he sees her, clothed in the same dress he sent her off in and standing taller than he’d ever seen her before.

' _Hello, Merlin_ ,' she says, a smile in her voice though her face is carefully neutral as she inclines her head toward the woods, an unspoken “ _meet me there_.”

⁋

Arthur doesn’t notice his servant slip away, something that Merlin thanks the gods for as he follows the practically nonexistent trail Freya leaves for him.

' _Where are you_?' He asks, paying less attention to the ground ahead of him and more to the spots between trees where he half-expects her to be standing. 

“Behind you.” A hand brushes against his own and he flinches away, not quite believing this could possibly be real, that she could truly be here. Her hand returns, entwining her fingers with his as she tugs him around to face her. “I’m right here.”

Her other hand cups his cheek and he leans into it, hardly daring to breathe.

' _I missed you_ ,' he tells her, watery eyes slipping open to watch her.

“I know, my love,” Freya whispers back. “And I you.”

Slowly, reluctantly, Merlin withdraws to stand straight. “How are you…”

“How am I here?” At Merlin’s nod, she tugs at their clasped hands and leads them further into the forest as she answers. “I’m not… entirely sure. All I know is that I plan to take full advantage of this time, if you’ll let me.”

He pulls her to a stop and waits until she turns to meet his gaze, then lifts a hand to reverse their earlier position. “You know I’m all yours, my lady.” 

Merlin leans down and Freya meets him halfway, pressing her lips to his with a small sigh of contentment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who ran out of Freya/Merlin content to read and wrote the stuff she swore she'd never write once upon a time?


	2. Chapter 2

The second time Freya slips back into the land of the living, it is while Merlin, trailing after Arthur as always, is caught in the midst of an ambush.

“Need some help?” She asks, easing her way through the sea of fighting men to stand back-to-back with her warlock.

“It would be much appreciated, my lady,” he responds with a shout of laughter. Somehow, none of Camelot’s fighters notice the Lady of the Lake until the battle’s been won, something which Merlin puts down to a handy spell on Freya’s part or a bit of good luck. 

“Where did she come from?” One knight mutters to another, but Merlin ignores them in favor of greeting his lover. She eagerly returns his embrace, shouting in surprise when he lifts her into the air and spins her around.

“Just can’t keep out of trouble, can you,” Freya says as her feet reunite with the ground.

“You know me, an unwitting pawn of Destiny’s amusement.” Merlin grins, but before he can continue, Freya cuts him off with a kiss - short but passionate and all-consuming - before she dashes off, disappearing as quickly as she had appeared.

‘ _Come find me later_ ,’ she whispers back to him.

‘ _Count on it_.’ 

Her warlock, oblivious to the wolf whistles and confused questions of those he’s with, stares after her with a lovestruck grin.

“Who was _she_?” Arthur’s baffled exclamation startles Merlin out of his reverie.

“Um… a friend?” 

Someone, sounding suspiciously like a certain Sir Gwaine, snorts in disbelief. 

“A friend.”

“Yes?”

⁋

When Merlin escapes the knights’ merciless teasing and interrogation, it’s late into the night and quite honestly, he isn’t sure Freya will still be where he can find her.

' _Are you there_?' He asks, scowling as he trips over a tree root. 

' _Near the lake, love_ ,' comes her response. He adjusts his path and makes his way toward Freya’s lake, almost running at this point, anxious to have a few minutes alone with her before she must return to the lake. 

Merlin stumbles out of the treeline, panting and with a few leaves in his hair from when he tripped once again in his rush to get there. 

“Oh, Merlin,” Freya laughs, meeting him halfway as he bounds over to her and takes her hands in his. “You’re a mess.”

“But I’m your mess,” he responds easily, earning a peck on the cheek and an amused grin as she pulls the greenery from his hair and lets it fall to the floor, forgotten. Even once the leaves are gone, one hand returns to his hair entangling her fingers in his wild locks as the other tugs against the back of his neck, pulling him down for a kiss. 

‘ _Yes you are_ ,’ she whispers into his mind, smirking into the kiss at the sharp inhale her words earn her. 

Eventually, the lake calls to her, summoning her back, and she draws away.

“Already?” Merlin asks despite the fact that he, too, can hear the echoes of the lake, flowing through the very earth beneath their feet. 

“I’ll see you again,” she tells him, though neither know when that may be. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Reluctantly, Freya turns away from the warlock and takes one step toward the lake, then another. 

At the water’s edge, she pauses and looks over her shoulder. Merlin stands where she left him, eyes locked on her with a sad sort of longing, one that she understands intimately.

‘ _Until next time_ ,’ she whispers, unable to speak the words aloud. 

‘ _Until then_ ,’ he says, and then she takes the final step into the lake and disappears once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "How does one write," I ask as I type words and hope something coherent comes out. (Also known as "Author regrets decision to write what she has no experience with.") Am I being dramatic? Probably.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Imagine your OTP climbing a tall tree together." @pairing-prompts on tumblr

Next time, Merlin is prepared. He knows the instant she rises, all too aware of how the earth reacts to her touch, magic rippling through the ground all the way to where the warlock sits on the steps of the castle that lead out into the courtyard. 

A discreet spell masks him from the sight of those around him as he rises and _runs_ , winding through servants and knights and then through the busy streets of lower town until the road beneath his feet turns to grass and the buildings around him turn to trees. 

‘ _Hello, Freya_ ,’ he says, traveling along the path to her lake he’s long since ingrained in his brain. A wave of delight and mild surprise thrums through their bond as she returns his greeting. 

She’s waiting at the treeline when he reaches her, panting slightly but fortunately not wearing as much plant as he had been last time. The warlock barely has a chance to catch his breath before Freya wraps her arms around him in a hug, swiftly stealing his breath away again as she tightens her hold as much as she can. Still, Merlin doesn’t comment. He’s sure he’s holding her just as tightly when he returns the embrace. 

“Thought I’d have to come find you again,” she says as she draws away, though her hand remains clasped in his. 

“Not this time,” he tells her, taking a few steps back into the forest, tugging her along. “I want to show you something.”

“Have something planned, do you?” A note of teasing in her voice as she speaks, Freya continues, “you are full of surprises today, my love.”

“I’ve no clue what you could possibly mean. I always have a plan.” 

“I’m sure.” She laughs at the sound of mock offense he makes, squeezing his hand slightly. “What do you want to show me?”

“Well, I _was_ going to tell you,” he says, glancing at her mischievously, “but now it’s a surprise.”

And then it’s Merlin’s turn to laugh at her disappointed pout.

⁋

It doesn’t take long until Merlin’s brisk walk slows to a stop, and the couple stands beneath a tree that reaches up and far beyond those it shares the earth with.

“A tree?” Freya asks, and the warlock can barely contain his sigh of relief when her face displays only confusion and not the skepticism he had feared. 

“Have you ever seen what it looks like above the treeline?” He responds in lieu of an answer. 

“Wait - you want me to climb that?” 

_Ah, there comes the skepticism._

“It’s beautiful,” Merlin tells her, grinning as he continues. “Almost as beautiful as you.”

The slap on the arm is well deserved, perhaps, but now Freya’s grinning too, so he counts it as a win. 

“So?” His grin fades as hers is replaced with uncertainty and a fear he recognizes from when he had first met her. “We don’t have to, of course, I thought - well, I guess I just thought you might like the view.”

“Heights and I,” Freya begins, eyes trailing up the tree, “don’t exactly agree, I must admit.”

“Is there… a reason for that?” He asks hesitantly, almost anxiously. There’s a pause before she nods, looking beyond the forest for a moment to the sky, seeing the moon rising to its climax despite the way the mid morning sun shines through the leaves. “Do you want to talk about it?”

A pause, then another nod. Freya sits beneath the tree and Merlin takes a spot an arm’s reach away, then waits, giving her all the time she needs to gather her thoughts, for which she’s grateful. 

“Before I died, when I was still cursed,” she begins eventually, idly rubbing her thumb over the knuckle of her other thumb, “what always stuck out the most after I would transform back was how it felt to fly. To be in the air, on the lookout for prey.”

A glance up reveals a wide eyed Merlin, lips moving in a soundless “ _oh_.” 

“So I just - heights remind me of… that.” There’s much left unsaid, but it doesn’t matter. Things for another time, perhaps. For now, though, Freya takes comfort in the understanding he shows her and for the lack of pity in his eyes when she meets his gaze. 

“Do you want a hug?”

“Not right now, no.”

“Alright,” he says, leaning back to stare up at the tree behind her. “We don’t have to do this, of course. I’m sorry my suggesting it upset you.” 

“You didn’t know.” Freya hesitates before speaking again. “I - I do want to do this.”

“You do?” 

She takes a deep breath, determination flowing through her veins along with a surge of sudden but welcome courage, and she nods. “Well, if its beauty rivals my own, I better see it for myself, shouldn’t I?” 

“Well,” Merlin laughs, “I guess you better, then.”

⁋

Freya looks down once, just to check that her feet are positioned safely on the branch she stands upon, and that’s when she finally realizes how high they’ve climbed.

A small gasp escapes, mouth going dry and gripping a branch above her in a white knuckled grip. 

Merlin notices immediately, having been paying close attention to her progress as she follows him up the tree, and calls out to her. “Are you alright?” 

And she wants to say yes, say this isn’t affecting her as much as it is, but she can’t bring herself to lie. To Merlin or to herself. So she doesn’t.

“Not really,” she admits. 

“Do you want to climb back down?” The warlock asks, already beginning his descent so he’s closer to her, just within Freya’s reach if she need to hold onto him. “We can always do this another time. Or, uh, not at all.” 

“I don’t -” The Lady cuts herself off, forcing a few deep breaths until she can convince herself that nothing is wrong. Still a bit unsteady, she asks, “can we just sit here for a bit? I don’t want to stop, but I do need a break.”

“Of course.” Merlin continues down the few branches it takes until he stands beside her, resting one hand on the small of her back lightly as she sits and he follows suit. 

“I’m sorry.” Brows furrowed, her warlock turns to her with a question she already knows is coming on his lips. “For - for the whole heights thing. You were excited to show me this and I’m making it into more of a chore than something fun.”

With a sigh, he wraps an arm around her shoulders and sits silently for a moment before speaking. 

“This isn’t a chore,” he says, staring out into the trees ahead of them. “ _You_ aren’t a chore. This? You climbing a tree to see what it looks like from _above_ the forest? The opposite of a chore, milady.”

Merlin withdraws his arm from around her and shifts to face her, taking her hands into his.

“You’re so brave, and it’s an honour to witness.” 

Tears come, unbidden and a bit unwelcome, but her warlock brushes them away with a soft look before Freya can react. 

‘ _Thank you_ ,’ she whispers, pulling him into an embrace that he returns immediately. 

Freya isn’t sure how long they stay like that, wrapped up in each other’s arms. Eventually, though, she deems herself ready and pushes away. 

“Ready?” Merlin asks, voice low, and she nods, standing up with eyes locked on what’s above them. 

“Do you want to take the lead this time?” 

“No, but maybe next time.” When she turns to him, she’s met with a smile so full of pride and love and adoration her soul _sings_. It’s impossible to not return it with one of her own. 

“Alright, well.” And then her warlock snaps back into action, excitement from earlier returning, if a bit more subdued. “Let’s do this.”

⁋

“So, is the view worth the climb?”

Freya and Merlin sit side by side on a branch that probably shouldn’t hold their weight given how high they are, but with magic at their disposal, neither are worried much about the risk of falling. 

“Yes.” And it is. The tree Merlin had chosen towered far beyond any other, allowing them to see out over the entire forest. Between the unexpected pleasure brought by the sight of the treetops and the quickly approaching sunset painting the sky a myriad of colors, Freya believes it might be the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen. 

As she sits beside her warlock, enjoying the serenity and giddy joy of being above the world, Freya finds herself once again struck with the disbelief and gratitude for the fact that he’s _hers_. 

“I love you,” she tells him, vowing to herself to remind him of that fact each time they meet, each time the thought trickles through her mind. 

“And I you,” Merlin responds, turning to watch her with the same expression he watches the sun’s descent. 

Satisfied, she nestles herself against his chest to enjoy the rest of their time together. 

That is, until she comes to an unpleasant realization. “Oh dear, we’re going to have to climb down, aren’t we?” 

“I think we can get away with a teleportation spell for that.” 

“Thank the _gods_.” 

Merlin laughs then, and despite herself, Freya can’t help but join in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I accidentally updated chapter 4 before chapter 3 and it doesn't _really_ matter what order you read them in, but still. Whoops.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "You're too cute." @speech-prompts on tumblr

Even before Freya takes her first step out of the lake, she knows Merlin is at the water’s edge, ready to greet her. 

_Didn’t take him long to figure out how to understand the lake’s magic_ , she notes, not without a hint of pride. 

Still, she doesn’t expect him to greet her with a picnic set up a stone’s throw away from the lake and a bouquet of red roses, just as perfectly crafted as the first one he gave her so long ago. 

“Thank you,” Freya says, taking the flowers from his hand and burying her nose in the scent for a precious moment before pulling him down for a kiss. As they break away, she continues, “I don’t get much of a chance to stop and smell the flowers anymore.”

“Well, I hope they don’t disappoint.” Placing one hand on the small of her back, Merlin guides her forward to where a threadbare blanket is spread across the ground.

“Not at all.” The flowers find a place resting in the empty basket set off to the side as Freya takes her time to see what all her warlock has packed. It’s simple; bread, wine, a couple apples, and - “Are those strawberries?”

“Yeah,” Merlin says as he drops onto the ground beside her, flicking a hand carelessly to lift the container full of the red fruit and bring it into her reach. A small, shy smile creeps across his face. “Finally got the spell right.” 

Freya doesn’t hesitate, plucking a strawberry up and taking a bite, breathing out a content sigh. The container lands in front of her as her warlock moves to retrieve a piece of bread for himself before returning to her side. They sit beside each other, unconsciously shifting to lean against the other’s shoulder, and enjoy the serene appearance of the lake in quiet. 

“This is amazing, Merlin,” she says finally, breaking nature’s spell for a moment. “I don’t think I can thank you enough.”

“As long as you’re enjoying it, that’s all the thanks I need.” 

They leave it as that, Freya leaning into Merlin a bit more as he wraps an arm around her shoulders, and the spell falls back into place.

Eventually, the warlock draws away to pour himself and his Lady some wine. He sets the goblets down between them and sprawls out across the blanket on his stomach, head pillowed on his arms as he watches her stare out across the lake. 

“You’re beautiful,” he says quietly, then freezes, turning as red as the strawberry in Freya’s hand when she looks at him. She laughs, and it, too, is beautiful, but he has no plans on speaking that aloud, not after his apparent inability to keep his thoughts to himself has showed its face. 

“Didn’t mean to say that out loud, did you?” Freya asks, because of course she knows. How can she not when her warlock is so flustered by his own words. He grumbles unintelligibly, summoning more laughter from the Lady. “You’re too cute, my love.”

With a drawn out groan, Merlin flops onto his back and covers his face with his hands. 

_I wonder if I could get the earth to swallow me whole_ , he thinks, reaching out curiously with his magic and receiving a decidedly unimpressed response. The warlock grumbles again, mildly disappointed but not surprised, but startles when Freya speaks again, disbelief and amusement evident in her tone.

“Did you seriously ask Albion herself to open up the earth to save you from your embarrassment?”

Merlin pauses, debating the pros and cons of lying. Then, reluctantly, he answers, “maybe.”

This time, when Freya bursts into laughter, he can’t help but join in. They laugh until their lungs burn and even then their amusement persists until eventually she’s lying with her head on his stomach, breathless giggles escaping from time to time as they catch their breath.

“I cannot believe you,” she says eventually, turning to look at him as she pushes herself into a sitting position, “asking Albion herself, you absolute tulip brain.”

“Tulip brain?” Merlin asks instead of acknowledging her words because, yeah, now that he’s no longer wishing to bury himself alive, the warlock knows he was being a bit foolish.

“Yes, because the tulips are quite silly, just like you can be.” Now, Merlin doesn’t usually listen to how the flowers act, but he isn’t going to doubt Freya’s claims. If anything, she’d know better than he, given that there’s a patch of tulips a short way from the lake. 

“I feel like I should be offended.” 

“Oh, don’t make me laugh again,” she says as she snorts a reluctant laugh, “I haven’t quite recovered from you _asking Albion to_ -”

“You’re never going to let me forget this, are you?” 

“Of course not.” 

He groans, throwing an arm over his face. A giggle escapes his Lady and she elbows him in the stomach, to which he shouts an indignant “ _hey_!” 

“I _told_ you to stop making me laugh!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had way too much fun writing this.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today on "this was meant to be plotless fluff but this is very much not plotless fluff" the author laments over her inability to write anything but angst. Not gonna lie, really not a fan of the next few chapters, but hope you lot enjoy.

The first thing Freya notices upon Merlin’s arrival to the lake is his magic. Dark and murky, it writhes in an unknown agony. 

Her teasing “ _you’re late_ ” dies on her lips as she opens her arms to hold him, pulling him into an embrace as he sags against her, trembling. She doesn’t ask what’s happened, not yet. Instead, she stays there, whispering small comforts and rubbing her hands over his back. 

“Sorry,” Merlin mutters as he tugs away, but Freya shakes her head sternly, still maintaining a loose grip on his arm.. 

“Don’t apologize,” she tells him softly. He drops to his knees, then, so suddenly Freya startles forward to catch him before realizing the abrupt movement is on purpose. Kneeling beside him, she reaches forward to take his hand in hers, pausing only briefly to check that it’s okay. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Can we just sit for a bit?” The warlock stares past her, stormy eyes trained on something she is sure she would not find if she were to turn around, but at her quiet hum of agreement he relaxes, leaning into her side. “Thanks.”

“Of course, my love,” Freya says, pretending not to notice how he cringes away at the term of endearment. 

_Later_ , she tells herself, _if he is willing. Just wait_.

⁋

Later is, quite honestly, not as much later as she had assumed it would be. An hour passes, then two, and then Merlin breaks the spell of silence lingering over the shore of the lake. 

“I don’t know where to start,” he says, the shadows around his eyes darkening with his furrowed brow. 

“Maybe the beginning?” Freya gives his hand a brief squeeze, an encouraging smile lighting her face. A moment passes before the warlock nods, a ghost of a grin dancing across his lips. 

“Yeah, alright,” he agrees. “We were on a patrol and - well, you know. Nothing good ever happens on patrols now. Bandits or sorcerers or kings. But - something happened.”

He cuts himself off, switching forms of speech. ‘ _Something happened and I ended up alone and - and captured by Morgana. And she summoned a Fomorroh_.’

A pause. Careful not to give into the sudden understanding and the rage, the hatred, the disgust that comes with it, Freya doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. She waits until the violent storm calms into a simmering stillness and then -

“Arthur?” It’s less of a question, more of a statement. Because _of course_ Morgana would use Merlin - loyal to a fault, devoted Merlin - to kill the man - her brother - she claims has stolen her throne. And her warlock nods, face twisted in his effort not to cry and the storm is back. Her magic roars, longing to reach out and destroy the one who would dare harm him, but she hushes it with a promise of _later_.

“I could have killed him.” Merlin lets himself be pulled into another hug, hiding his face the crook of her neck as his trembling is replaced with sobs. 

“It’s over now, love,” she whispers, magic giving up its pursuit of Morgana in favor of entwining itself with Merlin’s, soothing his until it no longer moves in pain and a hint of the light it once was has returned. The warlock’s sobs subside and his magic calms, but he doesn’t withdraw. He sags further into her hold and sighs.

‘ _Thank you_.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now I have to go back and change "the prince" to "the king" in the following chapters because apparently sometime between this and the last chapter Uther died. *shrugs*


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Take one more step and you’ll regret it.” @speech-prompts on tumblr

Merlin isn’t there.

Now, Freya might not have been worried in other circumstances, might have assumed he’s running late, he’s tripped a few too many times and has to take a break. In other circumstances, maybe. But she knows Merlin, knows her warlock, and he would’ve _told_ her if that’s the case. 

And yet she waits, nudging tentatively at their bond, reaching out to him. She hits a wall. 

_What_? Freya focuses on their bond, pushing at the wall with a distantly curious fascination drowned in not-quite panic. Merlin’s blocking their bond. But _why_?

‘ _Merlin_ ,’ she calls anyway, searching for a weak spot in the wall. ‘ _What’s going on_?’

No response, not that she expected one. Still, the wall quivers almost imperceptibly and Freya nudges at a forming crack. 

‘ _It’s alright_ ,’ she whispers, afraid of causing more problems by distracting her warlock from whatever’s happening. ‘ _It’s alright, Merlin, just let go of the wall. It’s alright_.’

The wall shakes, crumbles away from their bond and then Freya’s moving, running to where the bond leads her because Merlin still hasn’t said a thing and she can _feel_ the way his lungs scream for air and his head pounds like he’s been kicked by a horse. 

Her magic reaches out, a soothing flow of energy washing over him and numbing his aches the best she can manage. It helps, she thinks, but it doesn’t do much for the sharp pain that shatters the moment of temporary recovery. She keeps running.

She can hear him now, or at least those pursuing him. Thundering footsteps of men, too many men for an already injured warlock to take on himself, grow louder as she runs toward them and them toward her. 

And then there’s a scream and Freya hates that she can recognize the voice so easily when in such pain. 

‘ _Merlin_!’ Just as she bursts through the trees and into the clearing they’ve trapped her warlock in, he falls, crumples to the ground limply. Her magic roars, protective anger burning through her veins in a way that reminds her of her warlock in his element, and she lunges forward, planting herself between Merlin and the circling foes. 

“Get out of the way, girl,” one growls lowly from somewhere next to her. Freya ignores him, he doesn’t matter yet, he isn’t the one directly responsible for what was done to Merlin. 

Instead, she locks eyes with the foolishly arrogant one who _smirks_ even as his sword drips red. “Take one more step and you’ll regret it.”

‘ _Albion_ ,’ Freya prays, her magic flowing through her and into the earth, ‘ _help me protect him_.’

The earth trembles and Albion answers. Water rises from the depths where it was hidden, dancing around loose limbs, beautifully dangerous, and roots wrap around weapons and ankles. 

And really, that’s all it takes. These men - bandits or mercenaries or whoever, Freya doesn’t know - are smart enough to realize they are _far_ out of their league. They run. 

Albion - and it hasn’t really hit yet, that _Albion_ is helping her, answering her prayer - doesn’t let them escape easily, pulling those who run into the earth, strangling them with roots and branches, tripping them onto their own weapons.

Freya releases her hold on the water, letting it sink back into the earth as Albion guides it back to where it had been gathered from. 

‘ _Thank you_ ,’ she whispers, and Albion withdraws her presence. Sinking down to her knees, Freya pushes Merlin onto his back, identifying injuries and healing what she can. In the end, there is only a persistent headache and an overall soreness that will remain.

She stays there, running a hand through his hair and watching the steady rise and fall of his chest, the sounds of nature returning in the absence of the intruders. 

“Oh, Merlin,” Freya whispers, “what am I going to do with you?”

⁋

Though she hates it, hates the idea of leaving her warlock alone and unconscious, she finds herself being drawn back to the lake. 

Her magic protests much like her heart does, and she doesn’t object when it acts without her permission, reaching out and finding the king her warlock serves so dutifully. There is no spell spoken, no solid intent behind the contact with the king’s soul, but she knows that he will be drawn to where her warlock lies upon her departure. 

So she leaves, taking one reluctant step after another until she reaches the lake. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couldn't let Merlin be the only one to speak to Albion, now could I?


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a bit short, but venturing out of pure angst zone, thank god
> 
> “You’re amazing, did you know that?” @happylilprompts on tumblr

“You’re amazing,” Freya says one night, watching as her warlock plays with the sparks of the fire, making shape after shape and creature after creature. “Did you know that?” 

He doesn’t respond, and though the dark of night makes it hard to see his face, she knows a blush spreads across his face to the tips of his ears. She also knows that no matter what he says in joking pride, there’s nothing he values less than his own abilities. 

Not the spells he uses in battle, dropping trees onto foes or snatching weapons away or tossing them back and certainly not the simple spell he uses to amuse himself in the cold of the night. Not his kindness, his heart so full of love for the world around him despite how poorly it has treated him, not his skill as a blooming physician.

And yet he sits there, across from her with a shy grin on his face, not quite meeting her eyes as his own flash gold and a rose blooms amid the smoke rising from the flames. It’s beautiful. 

“You’re amazing,” she repeats, a vow to tell him that again and again as many times as he needs to hear solidifying in her mind. 


	8. Chapter 8

Really, it shouldn’t be a surprise that Merlin’s found himself here, standing with Arthur and the knights around him - as if _he’s_ the one who needs protection - and left with no choice but to use magic to protect the ones he cares about. 

Despite the fact that he knows, he _knows_ , there isn’t a way to do this and not be caught, Merlin ducks his head, eyes half closed and a spell on his lips. But before he can do anything, there’s an explosion of light that sends everyone - friend and foe, knight and bandit alike - reeling. Merlin alone remains on his feet, staring awestruck as a hooded figure steps into view, cloak billowing in the wake of their spell.

‘ _I’ll take care of this one, my love_ ,’ echoes through his mind, drawing a smile and a relieved laugh from him. 

‘ _By all means, my lady_ ,’ Merlin responds. Taking a few steps back as a tree root rips out of the earth dangerously close to his feet and tosses a bandit into the trunk of another tree, he watches as they all fall to her merciless spells. 

The knights have long since scattered, watching in befuddled alarm. Arthur tugs on his arm in an attempt to pull the warlock to safety, but there is no safer place that Merlin could possibly be than where he stands, basking in the protective and loving waves of fury that surround him.

And when the battle’s all but done, Freya disappears back into the forest, a stream of teasing affection leaking across their bond.

⁋

“Who _was_ that?” The knights mutter amongst themselves later, careful to keep their voices low so that the king will not hear. It would do no good, after all, for them to discuss the hooded stranger in his presence. 

It does not matter, in the end. The king is far too caught up in interrogating Merlin on the fond smile that hasn’t left his face since their earlier run-in with the sorcerer. 

The servant’s explanation of, “we’ve nothing to fear from the magic user,” draws the attention of everyone, and their discussion is abandoned in favor of joining the king’s interrogation.

Merlin speaks not a word, not to them. But to the Lady of the Lake, he sends a wordless “ _thank you_ ” and “ _I love you_.”


	9. Chapter 9

The next time she finds herself on the shore of the lake, Merlin is already there, sprawled out on his back with an arm thrown carelessly over his face. 

“Hello, love,” she calls, padding toward him. “Comfortable?” 

He moves his arm, revealing a darkening bruise on his cheek and a busted lip, and gestures at the ground beside him with a ghost of a smile. “Quite.”

As she lies next to him, staring up at the sky, she says nothing. What is there to say, after all? If the warlock wishes to share what happened, he will, and if not, Freya is more than willing to provide silent comfort. So instead, she watches the clouds pass overhead and loses herself in her thoughts. 

The storm brewing in Merlin’s soul does not settle, but neither does it grow more violent. Thunder rumbles through his veins but there is no crackle of lightning and his eyes remain a darker shade of their usual blue. Perhaps on another day, she would reach out, take his hand or caress his magic, but she doesn’t dare today. Not when the warlock’s expression is one of mastered calm and his bloodied knuckles curled into fists. 

_How long will this last_ , she wonders, turning her head to the side to watch him. _How long will it be until he can rest without knowing there will be yet another trial_? 

Blue eyes find hers. 

_Will he know how to rest by the time this is over_? She hates the thought, hates the idea of Merlin finally, _finally_ not having to fight anymore but no longer knowing how to do anything else but fight. But as Freya searches his face for - something, she doesn’t know what - she finds that there’s still a part of her that knows intense fear for another. 

“I love you.” Pushing herself into a sitting position and turning to face her warlock fully, she reaches out to rest a hand on his arm. Slowly, cautiously, giving him plenty of time to draw away from the touch. He tenses but does not withdraw, eyes softening ever so slightly. “And Merlin, I love you for _you_. The real you. The one who smiles at strangers and summons flowers by accident and makes shapes in smoke and isn’t afraid to cry when you’re upset and is always, _always_ there for those who need a hand.”

Merlin rolls onto his side, moving his arm out of her grasp to take her hand in his as his brows furrow. “What brought this on?”

“I’m afraid. Honestly, I forgot how it was to be this afraid, but my love, fate has not been kind to you and I fear you’ll be put through trial after trial until you reach your breaking point.” There’s a pause, Freya watching as her warlock sits up and then pulls her into his arms, burying his face in her hair. She clutches at him a bit desperately as she whispers into his neck, “I don’t want to see you reach that point.”

There’s no telling how long they sit there. Where they sit upon the shore of the Lake of Avalon, time ceases to exist and all that matters is the two lovers trembling ever so slightly in one another’s arms. 

“I’m afraid too,” Merlin admits quietly, breaking the eternal silence. His arms tighten, involuntarily, Freya thinks, judging by his shuddering breaths. 

Neither speaks after that. There is nothing more to say. Instead, they sit in silence, tangled with each other until the inevitable happens and the lake, with as perfect of timing as ever, calls her away.

Merlin is left standing alone, staring out over the still water with the ghost of Freya’s kiss lingering over the dried tear tracks on his cheek. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I'm gonna write something happy," I say before sitting down and writing something that is the exact opposite of happy. Poor Freya and Merlin... maybe I'll give them a break soon (though, let's be real, this is me so probably not). 
> 
> Also, I passed 6k words! I'm very excited, this is the longest thing I've written and actually posted so far.


	10. Chapter 10

“Over here,” Freya calls, glancing over her shoulder to check that Merlin heard her. He looks up from where he attempts to free his leg from where an overly affectionate plant, enchanted by someone long ago to give it life of its own, has wrapped itself around him. Stifling laughter, she puts her hands on her hips with a mockingly betrayed gasp. “Are you leaving me for a plant?”

Merlin’s lips twitch into a smile before he covers it with a wide-eyed innocent pout. “My love, I would never dare to betray you. I swear, this plant means nothing to me.”

“Then, by all means, please explain why it seems determined to crawl its way up your body.” 

The plant, having little interest in their conversation, has worked its way from Merlin’s knee to his pant waist, drawing a yelp from the warlock as it ducks under his shirt. Despite her best efforts, Freya can no longer hold back her mirth as she watches Merlin flail and argue one-sidedly. 

“Oh, Merlin,” she says. “If you aren’t tripping and getting leaves in your hair, it’s always something else. A plant deciding you’re a perfectly good thing to climb, apparently.” 

“Just part of my -” He cuts off with a grunt as the plant tugs at his other ankle, tugging his feet out from under him. With a weary sigh, Merlin lifts his head from off the ground. “Charm.” 

⁋

“You - um - you still have a leaf in your hair.” Freya bites back a laugh, pointing at a spot on the back of Merlin’s head. The warlock, finally freed from his green captor, grumbles under his breath. Brushing at his hair half-heartedly and completely missing the leaf, he turns back to her. 

“Did I get it?” One look at her face is answer enough, but Merlin merely shakes his head and admits defeat. “Earlier, did you find something? I thought you said something but I was a… bit distracted at the time.”

Freya nods, slipping her hand into his, and tugs him along a safer path that gives the enchanted plant a wide berth. “I believe I found the perfect spot to practice the transformation spell you mentioned a while ago.”

“Oh?” 

“Yes. There were even a few strawberry plants, and it’s the right time to pick them.”

“The perfect spot indeed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's been a bit, hasn't it?


	11. Chapter 11

‘ _Merlin_?’ 

Freya waits, listens for a response, but minutes pass and still there is nothing. 

_This better not become a habit_ , she thinks, picking her way across the forest to Camelot. _I don’t know what I’ll do if it does_.

At the very least, there is no wall blocking her from reaching out to him. It’s only that his end remains dormant, unresponsive no matter how she prods and questions. She can only hope that he is in Camelot, where she can find him and where he is safe. 

But if he isn’t, well. Someone will learn to fear her today. 

⁋

As the edge of the forest draws near, Freya pauses to mutter a spell of disguise Merlin had shown her last time they met. His joy at sharing something he’d picked up was contagious and Freya has spent perhaps a bit too long casting the spell with his childish grin in mind. 

Her dress loses its vibrant colors, fading to a dull off-white and changing from it’s fine cloth to one more befitting a townsperson. She hesitates to change any more, but decides not to risk the chance of running into the king and him somehow remembering her. 

So with straw blonde hair and a face that resembles her mother’s more than her own, she walks the last distance to the walls of Camelot. 

A knight passes her as she slips into the city, one she vaguely recognizes from one of Merlin’s many stories, but she can’t be bothered to linger on the man’s face. After all, she has someone to see and she is on a time limit. 

⁋

“Can you point me in the direction of the court physician?” 

The guard standing at the entrance of the courtyard turns, and she repeats her question at his request. 

“Of course,” he says, taking a step toward her to point at a passing servant. If he sees the way she flinches at his abrupt movement, he doesn’t mention. “Gwen! Gwen knows the castle well, she’ll be able to show you the way. You’re less likely to get lost than with my directions.” 

“That is true,” Gwen agrees, approaching with a smile. “Where do you need to go?” 

“I need to see the court physician.” 

“Of course, he’s this way.”

⁋

“I should warn you,” Gwen says as they turn a corner into a mostly abandoned hall, “the physician and his assistant have been working non stop these past few days. I don’t know how well they’ll be able to help you.”

“That’s fine. I’m just here to deliver a message.”

“Oh! Alright then.” 

The rest of the walk is spent in silence, though Freya doesn’t miss the curious glances Gwen sends her way.

⁋

After Gwen has left, Freya stands before Gaius - someone she’s heard much about, but not even Merlin’s detailed description of the Eyebrow manages to do it justice - and wonders what life in Camelot is truly like. 

Merlin has told her much about his days here, but there’s a difference between hearing about something and experiencing it herself. 

But that’s not something to be dwelled on now, so she pushes the thought to the side. 

“I’m here to see Merlin.”

“He’s resting,” Gaius says, face carefully blank. “I’m afraid I wasn’t expecting any visitors today.”

“This was a bit unplanned, I’ll admit.” Freya glances at the door leading to Merlin’s room as a loud thud comes from the room. 

Though he does not let her fully out of his sight, Gaius turns and calls out to the warlock. “Merlin, is everything alright?”

Merlin doesn’t answer, but the door slams open a moment later to reveal Merlin in all his nightclothes-clad glory. The bags under his eyes are dark enough that she can spot them with ease from across the room, but his eyes light up upon seeing her. 

“Like the spell?” He asks, dodging Gaius’ hand as the man moves to hit him over the head. 

“It’s quite clever,” Freya says. As she walks toward the warlock, Gaius makes no move to stop her, though she knows he must have questions. But then Merlin pulls her into a kiss and any thoughts of the old man vanish. 

She breaks the kiss and leans back, one hand rising to cup Merlin’s cheek. “I was worried.” 

“I’m sorry, Freya,” he responds, but she hushes him before he can continue. 

“You’ve nothing to be sorry for, love. I’m just glad you’re alright.” 

‘ _I’m still sorry_.’ Merlin grins as she swats at his arm, but leans into her arms as they wrap around him again. 

‘ _Be sorry all you want, it doesn’t change the fact that you’ve done nothing to warrant it._ ’ 

From somewhere behind her, Gaius clears his throat, which summons a bright flush to Merlin’s cheeks. Freya can’t help but laugh as he turns red enough to rival a tomato and amusement rolls off of Gaius in waves, even if the man keeps a stern frown on his face. 

“We’ll go… somewhere,” Merlin says, running a hand through his hair. “Let you get back to work.” 

And before the man has a chance to respond, Merlin takes her hand in his and leads her out of the physician’s chambers and down the halls. They dive into alcoves to avoid those who might question the presence of a newcomer, take the servants’ passages when a path is too cluttered. Eventually, their path leads down into the dungeons, then down further. 

“Are we going to the place the Great Dragon was held?” She asks, glancing over her shoulder once again to make sure no one followed them. 

“We are. Is that alright?” 

“Of course. Always wanted to see it for myself, after all.” 

⁋

The cave is, to put it simply, a giant hole that sets off too many alarms in Freya’s mind. A magic old and knowing lingers in each crevice, leaving no spot untouched. Where the foreign magic fades in time, Merlin’s magic replaces it, flooding the walls to fill the gaps left unattended and cover the parts that are not.

“It’s not the most beautiful place,” Merlin says, voice low as he gazes around the cavern with a faraway look, “but it’s important.”

“It is,” she agrees, soaking in the knowledge that these walls contain. 

Merlin drops to sit on the ground, back to the wall as his eyes shut. A few moments pass before Freya joins him on the ground and guides him into a more comfortable position to sleep. He does not resist, resting his head on her lap with a content sigh. 

“Rest, love,” Freya says, her fingers tracing runes across his back. “I’ll be here.”

⁋

When Merlin wakes, it is to a bed he does not remember crawling onto and his lover curled against him. It is perfect, and he can ask for nothing else. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> longest chapter so far, I think ( ~~this has been sitting on my computer for too long now~~ )


	12. Chapter 12

_Bang_.

“ _Mer_ lin,” the biggest prat of all prats begins. “What do you –?”

“Um, hello.”

Merlin grumbles and tightens his hold on –

Oh.

“ _Merlin_.”

 _Oh_.

“This is a nightmare,” he says, burying his face into his pillow. “Please tell me this is a nightmare.”

“Not so, love.”

“ _Love_?”

“Oh, no. Much worse than a nightmare.”

 _Thump_.

“Ow.”

⁋

Gaius has suspiciously disappeared, Merlin notes as he walks down the steps into the physician’s workspace. Freya trails after him, eyeing Arthur with trepidation where he paces in front of the hearth.

“You know,” Merlin says, rubbing at his bare neck. He glances in the direction of his room, but is greeted with his neckerchief shoved in his face.

‘ _Thanks, Freya_.’ The instant the neckerchief settles around his neck, his nerves settle slightly. A deep breath later, he tries again.

“You know,” he repeats, and he takes a step toward Arthur, “you tell me to knock all the time. Maybe you should take your own advice.”

Arthur scoffs, though he brings his pacing to a halt and turns to the two. His mouth opens and shuts again a few times before finding his words.

“How long has this been happening?”

“Um…” Merlin glances at Freya, who shrugs. Helpful. “Longer than you and Gwen.”

“What.”

Freya, of course, chooses then to slap his arm.

“Ow, _what_? Alright, well, longer than you and Gwen have believed a relationship between you two was possible.” 

‘ _Better_.’

‘ _Thanks_.’ If that’s a bit more sarcastic than when he said it last time, well, the only one to judge is Freya. And she slaps his arm again, so it must be. Not that that was his intention, of course.

“Am I missing something?” Arthur asks, staring in open confusion.

“Usually are,” Merlin says.

At the same time, Freya speaks up, “no.”

“Right, no, absolutely not.” 

Merlin winces at Freya’s glare, but he takes her hand and pretends not to notice that she’s squeezing it tighter than he thought possible. 

‘ _I’m sorry_ ,’ he tells her. ‘ _I wasn’t thinking about how hard this must be for you_.’ 

‘ _It’s fine_.’ It isn’t, really, but he lets it drop. They’ve other things to focus on at the moment. Namely the king staring at them in disbelief. 

“You know what?” Arthur begins, shaking his head faintly. “I don’t want to know.”

With that, he flees, leaving the two staring at the the spot he previously stood. 

“Deal with that later?” Merlin asks.

“Without a doubt.”

⁋

Later, as Merlin moves to leave the prince’s chambers and give Gwen and Arthur some privacy during their meal, Arthur calls him back. The smug grin tugging at the corners of Arthur’s lips send alarm bells through Merlin’s mind.

“So, _Mer_ lin,” he says, “why don’t you tell us about your lady friend?”

“Lady friend?” Gwen asks. “Do you mean the woman I helped find Gaius’ chambers earlier?”

Merlin hides his laughter behind a cough at Arthur’s crestfallen expression.

“Uh… yeah. She… tends to avoid Camelot, so today was a surprise.”

As Arthur opens his mouth to speak, a kick on the shin from Gwen silences him.

“What was that for?”

Gwen ignores him.

“You’ll have to tell me about her later,” she says, “and maybe how long you two have been together. It seems there’s quite a bit for you to fill me in on, isn’t there, Merlin?”

The smug grin is back, and Merlin finds himself tempted to wipe it right off the prat’s face.

“Over lunch, maybe? I’m sure Arthur wouldn’t mind me taking the afternoon off.”

“Excuse me –“

“Of course.” Gwen turns to Arthur, smile just bordering on dangerous. “Isn’t that right, Arthur?”

Other than a sigh, Arthur does not protest.

 _He’s learning_ , Merlin thinks, sure to mask a grin of his own when the two turn back to him.

“If that’s all, I’ll leave you two to your meal.” As he slips out the door, he calls over his shoulder, “and I’ll be sure to inform George he’ll be looking after you tomorrow afternoon.”

Gwen’s laughter and Arthur’s grumbled curses echo into the hall.

⁋

‘ _Freya_?’

‘ _Merlin_? _I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon_.’

‘ _I know_ … _I was thinking_.’

‘ _That’s a surprise_.’

‘ _Oh hush. I was thinking, if you wanted, I could introduce you to Gwen_? _Properly_ , _I mean_ , _not like when you met her before_.’

Silence.

‘ _I’m sorry_. _It was just an idea_ , _but if you aren’t comfortable_ –’

‘ _When_?’

‘ _When do you want_? _I don’t know when I’ll see you again, but I could always bring her to the lake_.’

‘ _Merlin_ , _I’m not in the lake_.’

‘ _What_?’

‘ _I thought it was calling me back_ , _but now that I’m here_ , _the call simply_ … _stopped._ ’

‘ _We can figure that out_ –’

‘ _Later_? _I’ll add it to the list_.’

Neither speaks, though Merlin can sense Freya’s presence through their link. He adds wood to the fire and glances over to where Gaius pours finished potions into bottles.

‘ _I’m having lunch with Gwen tomorrow_ , _I can make it a picnic_?’

‘ _Any chance you could bring some of the wine from last time_?’

‘ _For you_ , _my love_ , _I will risk the wrath of Audrey and sneak some away_.’

‘ _Thank you_.’

“I’m going to bed now,” Merlin says, rising to his feet.

“Goodnight, Merlin,” Gaius responds, barely sparing him a glance as he retreats to his room.

As he shuts the door, he reaches out to Freya once more. ‘ _I’m rubbish at teleportation spells_ , _but I do know how to make it so the bed fits the both of us better_?’

‘ _I’d like that_.’ 


	13. Chapter 13

The sun has long since risen and Merlin is sure Arthur will be fuming over his tardiness, but he can’t bring himself to care.

Not when his and Freya’s legs are tangled beneath a borrowed blanket, one of her arms tossed across his torso and head resting on his chest.

 _Maybe_ , he thinks, _I can get away with skipping a day_.

Then Freya shifts, muttering incoherently, and he dismisses the idea. Even if he cares little for what Arthur might say, there is still lunch with Gwen to consider. Still, he lingers until, eventually, Freya withdraws and rolls over, her back to him as she curls around a pillow (also borrowed).

“Alright,” Merlin huffs, leaning over to kiss the top of Freya’s head before rising, “I’m up.”

He leaves a note and a rose on the bedside table on his way out. 

⁋

“Merlin!” 

The servant in question spins around, picnic basket hanging precariously from one arm as he carries a tray of food for the king in one hand and a jug of water in the other. 

“Hello, Gwen. Sorry, late for Arthur. Meet in the courtyard later, have a picnic like we used to?” 

He barely catches her laughing agreement as he whirls back around and returns to his path.

⁋

“You’re late,” is the first thing to greet him as he opens the doors to Arthur’s chambers. “You can’t expect me to believe your lady friend kept you up late enough to warrant a lie in.”

“Mind out of the gutter, you prat,” Merlin responds, setting down the tray in front of where Arthur sits at his desk. “She was asleep and I didn’t want to wake her by getting up.”

As he putters around the room, doing the odd chore here and there, Arthur makes a noble attempt at subtlety as he shoots question after question about Freya. Merlin can’t help but laugh as he gently pushes each one aside, leaving them unanswered and Arthur beyond frustrated as the day passes. 

By the time Merlin is racing down the steps into the courtyard, picnic basket in hand, he almost feels sorry for the prat. But he thinks of Freya, of how she had woken up in a panic in the middle of the night and while she hadn’t shared her dreams, he _knew_. Almost is all the king will get when Freya is involved. 

“Are you ready, my lady?” He asks, extending his free arm to Gwen as he brushes the thoughts away. Gwen smiles and loops her arm through his, reaching out a hand for the basket. “Nuh uh. No peeking, my lady. You’ll ruin the surprise.”

“Surprise?” 

Merlin hesitates, seeking Freya out through their bond. 

‘ _Still up for a picnic with the Gwen_?’ He asks. 

‘ _Wouldn’t miss it for the world_ ,’ she responds. 

“Yep. You’ll just have to wait and see what it is.”

Gwen steals glances every so often as they walk out of Camelot and into the forest, and he can tell she wants to ask about the “surprise” though she doesn’t. He’s grateful. If she had asked, he wouldn’t have a clue of what to say or where to start.

“So this ‘ _lady friend_ ’ as Arthur calls her,” Gwen says instead, a grin tugging at the corners of her lips. “What is she like?”

“She’s amazing, Gwen.” Merlin allows himself to be the emotional girl Arthur would accuse him of had he spoken earlier, telling his friend about the way Freya tucks her hair behind her ears when she’s excited and the way she sleeps with her head over his heartbeat, and the way her presence calms him in a way few others’ can. He barely notices when they reach the clearing where Freya plans to meet them.

“And here I thought I was meant to be doing the introductions.” Freya steps out from behind a tree, hands tangling with the skirt of her dress. Her disguise from the previous day remains, though if Merlin focuses, he can see her brunette hair peeking through the spell. “Hello, my lady. I’m Freya.”

“So you’re the surprise, I take it?” Gwen asks, walking forward as Freya curtsies. “And I’m no lady. I’m simply Gwen, here.”

“Oh, you are much more than that,” Freya says, but rises without protest. “I’m glad to have a chance to properly meet you.” 

“And I you. I’ve heard quite a bit about you.”

Freya laughs, smiling contentedly as Merlin sets out the picnic, leaving the two women to talk alone. 

“He told me quite a bit about you as well. I do believe it’s time to get to know each other directly, don’t you?” 

“That sounds lovely.”

⁋

The evening finds them with crumbs scattered across the picnic blanket and cups refilled with wine for the third time as Merlin lays with his head on Freya’s lap. Though he does not react to Gwen’s recount of what has been dubbed “The Pastry Incident,” Freya knows he is still awake and listening. 

‘ _I did not trip that time_ ,’ he adds silently, ‘ _other times, yes, but this time_? _Arthur tripped me, the utter dollophead._ ’

Freya’s snort of laughter is dismissed as a reaction to Gwen’s story, which isn’t entirely untrue. 

“That reminds me of the time Merlin and I were walking through the woods and found an enchanted plant.” 

‘ _Don’t you dare_.’

“An enchanted plant?”

“Oh, it wasn’t harmful or anything. Or, well, its goal wasn’t to be harmful, but Merlin _is_ a bit clumsy.”

⁋

At some point, Merlin falls asleep. Freya’s not sure when that happened, but she only notices when Merlin sighs deeply and buries his face in her skirt. 

Beside her, Gwen laughs quietly. “I haven’t seen Merlin so relaxed in a long time.” 

The two sit, watching him fondly. Eventually, Freya sighs and glances at the sinking sun. “I hate to wake him, but we should be getting back to Camelot. Especially you, Gwen.” 

“I suppose you’re right.” Gwen rises, then gestures toward the remnants of their picnic. “I’ll pack up while you get him up?”

“Oh, you don’t have to -”

“Please, Freya, it’s no trouble.” Gwen grins, adding, “I’m still a servant, after all.”

Freya hesitates, but nods. Turning to her warlock with a fond smile, she runs a hand through his hair.

‘ _Merlin_ ,’ she calls, moving her hand down to his shoulder and nudging lightly. ‘ _We need to go back to Camelot_.’

“Five more minutes,” he grumbles, still mostly asleep. Freya can’t help her huff of laughter.

“Sorry, love. When we’re back in Camelot, you can go back to sleep.” She waits, and Merlin grumbles some more, but slowly rolls off of her lap. 

Lying face-down on the ground, Merlin waves one hand vaguely in her direction. “I’m up, I’m up.”

“I’ll believe it when you’re standing,” she says, rising to her feet herself. 

Gwen, having finished packing up, moves to stand next to Freya, biting her lip in an attempt to not smile at Merlin struggling to his feet. It doesn’t work. 

Merlin takes one looks at the two of them and grumbles some more. He takes one step forward and immediately trips. 

“Oh, Merlin,” Gwen laughs. 

Freya reaches a hand out, wiggling her fingers. “C’mon, love. Time to go.” 

That summons a laugh from him, and he accepts her extended hand before reaching his other out to Gwen.

“Just until we get close enough to actually be concerned about people seeing?” He says when she hesitates. Gwen smiles, and accepts the hand, sharing an amused look with Freya as he grins and squeezes both of their hands. 

‘ _Have fun_?’ Merlin asks her, half tugging the two of them along, half letting them drag him behind them. She isn’t sure how that’s possible or how he does it, but she simply smiles and turns to Gwen.

“We should do this again,” she says, hoping she hasn’t misinterpreted the other woman’s kindness throughout the afternoon. 

“I would love to,” Gwen responds. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next two chapters are done, not sure if I'll post them today or tomorrow.


	14. Chapter 14

After a month of Freya popping in and out of Camelot as she wishes, Merlin finally manages to get a break from work for more than a day. 

“We can go stay outside of Camelot for a bit,” he offers that night as he and Freya stand on the ramparts of the castle overlooking the Lower Town. “I know you can’t stand being here too long, and that way I can help a bit more with figuring out what’s happened with the lake.” 

“How long do you have off?” 

“Four days. I think Arthur’s trying to make time for him and Gwen.” 

“With no servants?” 

“Eh, between the two of them? What Arthur can’t manage, Gwen is more than capable of handling.” 

“So you’re free.” Freya sighs and leans against the wall, eyes locked in the direction of the lake. “I don’t know what to do, Merlin. I’ve exhausted every lead I had and I just… I just want to scream at the lake to give me answers, at this point.” 

“Alright. Do you want me to come with?”

“What?”

Merlin hesitates, shrugging sheepishly. “I usually end up screaming out of frustration whenever I summon the giant, annoyingly cryptic dragon. Sometimes before he even gets there. It helps.”

Freya huffs a laugh, though her brow is creased and she’s nodding slightly. 

“Give me a head start,” she says. “So I can get my screaming out of the way and we can enjoy your time off.”

She doesn’t give him any time to respond, already not-quite-running back toward the main halls of the castle. 

“See you in a bit,” he calls after her, then settles against the wall to watch the city settle into sleep. 

He should probably talk to Kilgharrah sometime soon. After all, the dragon had been hovering in the back of his mind more noticeably than usual. But Merlin can’t quite bring himself to summon him, kin or not, when he is bound to bring reminders of prophecies or bad news or both. 

_You can’t keep avoiding your Destiny_ , a voice eerily similar to Kilgharrah’s rings through his mind. 

_I can for four more days_ , he tells it before shoving it to the side and focusing on the city once more. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting this chapter tonight cos it's short, next chapter will be up tomorrow.


	15. Chapter 15

Two weeks after Merlin’s break from servitude, he and Freya sit in an alcove opposite a window in one of the lesser used halls during a brief moment of rest. 

Merlin stops speaking mid-sentence as Freya’s disguise spell flickers out of existence. 

“Freya?” 

No response. He shifts slightly, glancing out the window in an attempt to find what she stares at so intently.

“Freya?” He repeats, reaching across their mental bond gently. “What’s wrong?”

Though she doesn’t speak, doesn’t show any sign of hearing him, Freya reachers over and grabs his hand. Uncertain of what else to do, Merlin entwines their fingers, then waits. 

Eventually, Freya squeezes his hand tightly and leaps to her feet. 

‘ _Something’s summoning me_ ,’ she says, a hint of fear lacing her voice. ‘ _Something powerful_.’

‘ _Do you want me to come with_?’

‘ _Please_.’

He nods, standing, then gestures toward one of the servants’ passages. 

‘ _Let’s go out that way. I know a path that leads straight into the forest_.’ He waits for her to nod, then guides her forward.

‘ _Who could possibly want to summon me_?’ She asks as they rush down a flight of stairs. ‘ _Who would even know how to_?’

‘ _I suppose we’ll find out_.’

⁋

Once they exit the castle, Merlin drops back to allow Freya to take the lead. She does so wordlessly, eyes locked on a path only she can see.

Slowly, it becomes clear where they are heading. He knows this path leads to the Darkling Woods, remembers following Morgana here once long ago. The serket sting's scar burns on his back, a reminder of what lurks ahead, and he dreads what they will find.

As they continue, it becomes easier to sense who is summoning Freya. And by that, he means there is an empty void where he cannot detect anything, magical or non-magical alike, and they are walking directly toward it. 

The lack of anything grows stronger and stronger, and Merlin keeps his eyes locked on Freya, if only to confirm she’s still there and then - 

⁋

Time stops.

It isn’t like the dragging, draining sensation that comes with Merlin slowing time at will. No, it’s more like… the split second of ice-filled veins in the moment between the mortal realm and the lake, only drawn out and spreading to every part of her. 

Freya turns to Merlin, a question on her lips, but it dies the instant she meets his frozen stare. 

“Merlin?” She calls, tugging her hand from his. He does not move, does not react. He stands, stuck in this moment, and she can do nothing. Manipulating time has never been a thing she is capable of. But if it is not Merlin, she fears the person powerful enough to do this. 

“Hello, Freya.”

Whirling around, Freya is greeted by the sight of a woman towering over her and outlined by a blinding white glow. She can hardly look at the woman, and she’s not sure she wants to. Under the woman’s gaze, she feels like little more than an animal of prey cornered by a predator. 

“Was it you who summoned me?” She asks, though she knows it could be no other. Surely the woman knows this as well, yet still she answers.

“It was.” The woman takes a step toward her and she takes an instinctive step back. “Do you know who I am?”

She should. She doesn’t, but she knows she should. A person with power as great as this woman should be known well by anyone not quite of the mortal realm. Instead of saying such, Freya chooses to remain silent. 

It doesn’t matter. The woman goes on as though she had not asked anything.

“I know you have been seeking answers behind your sudden freedom from the lake.”

Any semblance of calm Freya clings to gives way to suspicion and fear. There are very few who could possibly know of her relation to the lake, or of her fraying link, and that list is limited to herself, Merlin, those of the lake, and the gods themselves.

She pauses. 

_Oh_.

And she had always thought such obliviousness was limited to Merlin and the knights he calls friends. 

“Do you have the answers I seek?” 

“I do,” the woman responds, and Freya hesitates to call the lilting voice amused. 

She gestures for Freya to follow her, then walks away. Freya rushes after her, struggling to keep up with her long strides. A few moments pass in silence, even the forest around them is still locked in the woman’s magical hold. 

“You were placed in the lake for the mere purpose of fulfilling Destiny. But you were misplaced. To limit you to the lake would, at this point in your lifetime, do little more than hinder you and your role in Destiny.” 

Freya isn’t sure what to make of that, or how to respond in the meantime. The woman doesn’t seem to need a response, however, as she stops walking and turns to Freya. It is only then that Freya realizes they are on the shores of the lake. How she had not noticed before, she is not sure. 

“There will always be a link between you and the lake, no matter how weak. However, you are no longer tethered to it in a way that will require your return.” The woman reaches toward her and brushes her hand against Freya’s cheek, chasing away the ice numbing her senses as she tucks a lock of hair behind Freya’s ear. “Few mortals exceed my expectations of them, but you have been very impressive, indeed. Farewell, Lady of the Lake.”

Then the woman is gone, setting time back into motion and leaving Freya staring out over the Lake. 

It feels something like a new beginning. 

⁋

Merlin finds her just before the sun sinks below the horizon. How he figures out she is at the lake without ever reaching out to her, she isn’t sure. She isn’t sure about a lot of things today, but for once she does not mind. 

“So,” he says softly as he comes to stand beside her, “a goddess, huh?”

She hums, leaning against him lightly. “I know why the lake isn’t calling me anymore. Or, at least, I have an idea.”

“That’s good.” Merlin doesn’t ask for her to explain, and she can’t help but be grateful. She will explain, how could she not when he’d spent countless days beside her in her search for answers, but not now. 

“Can we go home?” She asks, slipping her hand into his. “I think I’ve seen enough of the lake for a while.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had an idea and it didn't exactly go as planned but yknow what, it's fine, I can make it work.


	16. Chapter 16

“Are you sure _Arthur_ is the one who always attracts trouble?” Freya asks as she shoves a bandit away from where she and Merlin had been having quite a lovely picnic up until now. 

“Don’t pin this on me!” Sending the other three bandits flying through the air, Merlin whirls around to face her. “This is a Camelot thing, not a me thing!” 

“Don’t turn your back, love,” she responds, summoning vines to restrain the two bandits shakily rising to their feet. The third remains on the ground, the slow rise and fall of his chest the only sign of life, while the one Freya fought is already restrained and writhing around angrily. “You know better than that.” 

“I do, I know.” Merlin sighs, waving an arm toward the remnants of food and the blanket they used to sit on. “I suppose we should make ourselves scarce, shouldn’t we?” 

“Probably a good idea.” As the picnic packs itself, she turns to the bandits to… muddle their memories of today, to put it kindly. “I wish you hadn’t done this. It’s far more trouble for you than it is for me.” 

Behind her, Merlin laughs, to which she responds by sticking her tongue out at him. She’ll get him back for that. Later, when they won’t be interrupted again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short chapter, but the next chapter is longer and should be up tomorrow


	17. Chapter 17

Thunder rumbles overhead as Freya walks toward the castle, basket of herbs in hand. She had gone out to gather them, allowing Merlin the chance to run a few errands for the king before said king decided to throw another goblet at him. 

Freya… understands that is part of their friendship. She just isn’t sure she’ll understand it. Though, she also thinks that perhaps her own experience with the king may be clouding her judgement. 

Either way, it keeps her further from the castle when it is likely the king will come bursting into Gaius’ chambers in search of Merlin. 

Another roll of thunder, accompanied by a flash of lightning, passes as Freya steps into the safety of the castle halls. In the next instant, the clouds open up and give way to their burden. A few grumbles and displeased shouts echo from the few others who were not quite able to escape the downpour. 

She ducks her head to hide the flash of gold in her eyes. The unfortunates will still, unfortunately, be soaked, but at the very least, her spell should protect them from catching any illness. With that done, she continues her trek back to Gaius’ chambers. 

“Hello, Freya!” A maid calls as she passes her in the hall, and Freya smiles back at her, calling out her own greeting. Freya isn’t a servant, doesn’t quite belong among them and their tight knit order of things, but she’s a friend of Merlin’s, and a peasant. They like her well enough, all things considered, and she’s content with that. 

The rest of the way to her destination, she remains unnoticed, ducking down the side paths Merlin had shown her. 

Gaius isn’t home, but Merlin is. 

“You miss the rain?” He asks, looking up from the gauntlet in his hands. 

“Only just.” She sets the basket down on the worktable, then presses her lips to the top of his head. “Finish your errands?” 

“I did. Arthur seemed surprised, the prat.” 

“What, does he expect you to be swamped?” Freya scoffs as she drops onto the bench beside him. “Can’t imagine why.”

A flash of lightning lights up the otherwise dark room. Beside her, Merlin rubs at his chest, scowling. 

“Is your scar bothering you?” 

He nods, grumbling something about Nimueh and revenge beyond the grave, to which Freya huffs a laugh as she rises to her feet once more. 

“Alright, sir, -”

“Oh, come on, don’t start with the ‘ _sir_ ’ -”

“- let me get the fire going, then you’re going to let me help with polishing the king’s armor.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Merlin says, shifting his foot in front of the armor lying on the ground as though she’ll take it from him. It isn’t an entirely unfounded fear, she’ll admit, but still. Does he really think his _foot_ will stop her from taking it?

“Maybe not,” she responds, “but I want to.” 

Merlin sighs, raising an eyebrow at her, but doesn’t put up any more protests. 

“Besides, there isn’t much else to do in the castle,” she continues, waving a hand toward the wood pile as she keeps a careful eye on the door, “and it would be dreadfully boring to sit and watch you work on your own.” 

“You mean to sit and distract me from work?” Merlin asks, refocusing on the gauntlet for a moment. Then, he nods once and sets it to the side. “Last time you sat with me while I was doing this, I ended up having to duel you to get the armor back.” 

“Yes, well, you hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast the day before,” Freya responds, pointing at him accusingly. “I was hardly going to let you keep working and neglecting yourself.”

Merlin says nothing. 

“Merlin…” 

He grins sheepishly, glancing at the armor instead of meeting her stare. 

“When was the last time you ate?” 

“Listen,” Merlin begins, then trails off, clearing his throat. He still won’t look at her. 

“ _Merlin_.” 

“ _Listen_ ,” Merlin repeats, though he picks up the gauntlet and moves it further from her, “I was _going to_ -”

“Lies.”

“I am not -”

“ _Lies_.” 

The armor flies to the corner of the room, a barrier shimmering into existence around it before fading from sight. 

Merlin sighs. “You’re not gonna let me do anything until I eat, are you?”

“What do you think?” 

“Right.” He glances at the armor, then at her. “What sounds good for lunch, then?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> new chapters of bend toward justice & knowledge should be up soon. I finished 2 or 3 chapters (I think I finished 3, but I can't remember for sure) of bend toward justice today and the fourth chapter of knowledge. I... will try not to post them all in one day, but I'm bad about immediately sharing everything I have written lmao.
> 
> also, I kinda picture Freya teasing Merlin by calling him "sir" I don't really know why. it kinda has to do with how his friends shown in the show are all knights, but that's not all there is to it I just can't put my finger on why else it appeals to me.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [fanart: stolen moments](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18916810) by [daisy_chains](https://archiveofourown.org/users/daisy_chains/pseuds/daisy_chains)




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